Summer Breeze
by emilyinthetaiga
Summary: sometimes fluffy, sometimes angsty. Fred brings his girlfriend home for the summer and has trouble dealing with his brothers' interest in her. lots of lovely sex scenes, plz review. rated M for language and explicit sexuality
1. In Which Fred and Emily Have Sex

Molly passes the asparagus to her left. As Emily takes the plate, she realizes they've come a long way since her first dinner with the Weasley family. For one, Molly has finally put away her fine china, perhaps signifying Emily is no longer a guest in the house, and has become something more intimate. Someone more deserving of the plain serving platter from which she scrapes vegetables, handing it off to the next person at the table. Tonight it happens to be Fred's brother George, who of course looks almost exactly like him, being his twin. Emily surveys the table of happily chewing people, noting that all the Weasley men look a certain degree similar, so the fact that Fred and George are twins makes little difference. Even Ron, Fred's youngest brother, looks like he'll grow up to resemble his father the way the others do.

Oh, Ron. He meets her eyes when her gaze lands on him, and he visibly blushes before taking the plate that has now made its way around the table. Emily shifts in her seat, both pleased with and wary of the knowledge that Fred's younger brother has a crush on her.

"I think he fancies you," Fred had laughed, too loudly for her taste. It would be one thing to brush off his brother's interest as boyish, but to embarrass the poor kid further seemed almost cruel.

But Fred can be cruel, Emily notes, glancing once across the table at him before turning her attention to dinner. If she doesn't eat fast enough, Molly will take it personally, house-guest or not. She slides her fork gently underneath what looks like mashed sweet potatoes and brings some to her mouth. Fred meets her eyes as she takes the fork from her lips, and the sensuality of the motion is enough to make her blush. Sometimes it feels pornographic, sitting across from him at a table with his parents, brother, and sisters. When Ron brings his two friends along, it's like they're surrounded by a bunch of fresh-faced kids and Fred never cares to be subtle.

As if to prove her point, his mouth turns up at the corner. She looks down before she can witness the full extent of Fred's knowing smirk, tired of wondering if Mr. Weasley notices her blushing when he addresses her.

"Emily, how's the work coming?" Mr. Weasley asks, clearing his throat.

Bloody hell, it's like they can all read my mind.

"Well, slowly, I guess," she says, sitting back and smoothing the napkin over her lap. "I'm still doing my research, so I haven't written a word yet." There is a clang from the opposite side of the table, and most everyone turns to see Molly gaping at Emily, her fork fallen in the middle of her plate.

"Not a word? What have you been doing all month?" she asks, genuinely surprised.

"Mum..." Fred begins, laughing, but Bill interrupts.

"That's not how it works, Mum. It's a lot of preliminary thought before you start into your thesis." Emily smiles at Fred's older brother gratefully, and he nods solemnly in her direction. "I had a lot of field work to do, myself."

"Yeah, alright, field work, sure. Like chasing dragons and cleaning up after them," Fred replies snidely, moving his food around on his plate. He resents being interrupted, especially by Bill, who is home for the weekend and seems to have brought an endless list of new professional success stories to announce.

"Fred," Molly says sharply, but he doesn't look up at her right away. Emily feels George's leg brush against hers as he reaches underneath the table to kick his brother in the shins. Fred tosses his napkin down and looks at his mother with a huff. "Polite," she says simply, and he smiles without humor, reaching for his glass of water before breaking the stare.

"Well, either way, you're making progress, I suppose?" Mr. Weasley asks again, his eyes darting across the table to his wife.

"I am, honestly," Emily assures them both. "I'm up in my room reading most of the time. It's just important to see what's been said on the subject before I start in with my own arguments..." She hopes she isn't insulting them with this simple explanation, but they nod and seemed satisfied. Emily breathes a sigh of relief.

The feeling of serenity is temporary, of course. When she looks up at Fred, he's smirking again. He opens his mouth to speak and she finds herself shaking her head slowly, pleading with him.

"So you read the whole time you're up there?" he asks, not even trying to suppress his smile.

"Yep." She answers, sounding more defiant than she had hoped to.

"By yourself."

"Mhm."

Everyone else seems to be eating, either pretending to be ignorant or actually unaware that Fred is embarrassing her. Only Ron looks confused, his brown eyes moving from his brother to Emily, his forehead wrinkled in thought.

"Sounds boring," Fred says, putting his elbow on the table and leaning his face in one hand, smiling at her in a garish way that reminds her of a puppy dog. Emily shifts her weight and takes a sip of water, wishing he wouldn't be so obvious.

"We'll have to head to Diagon Alley in the next week or so..." Mr. Weasley offers to no one in particular. Emily is the only one that seems to react to this, realizing the summer is coming to an end and that everyone will be heading back to Hogwarts in September.

"Where did the time go?" she wonders out-loud, and to her pleasure, everyone at the table nods and sighs. Some of the tension is relieved.

"I'll miss strawberries, we had such nice ones this summer..." Ginny speaks up, picking at something on her fingernail.

"We did, though. Just lovely, and the garden bloomed well," Molly adds, smiling at her daughter. They had both put a lot of time into grooming and weeding before Emily's arrival. When her eyes started to hurt from reviewing notes and journals, she had walked out into the garden on the warm summer nights, barefoot in the grass and wishing the holiday wouldn't ever end. She much preferred sweet drinks and flowers and early sunrises to dead-lines and mittens and jumpers. As nice as it was to rub noses with Fred in the snow, even Christmas with him couldn't compare to his hands sliding up her bare thighs, underneath her sundress at night in the backyard. Emily looks at him again, this time actually wanting to see that look in his eyes.

He raises his eyebrows at her in question as everyone around them starts to chatter about the things they'll miss. Emily wishes she could show him the things she was remembering. She wants to say it out-loud, that what she'll miss more than fruits of the harvest or sleeping in on week-days will be Fred making circles with his thumb over her breasts, pulling at the thin fabric of a blouse she couldn't wear in any other month but August. He searches her face now. Emily knows he can see the wheels turning in her head, but he isn't sure what she's meditating on.

This uncertainty drives him crazy, she understands that now. In the chaos of his family, he's always been the one two or three steps ahead, laughing and asking what's taking everyone so long to arrive. She knows it's a little mean, but Emily smiles at him anyway, running a hand through her hair slowly and blinking at him like she has a secret. Fred stares across the table at her, his mouth slightly open.

"I like your tie," she mouths silently to him, pointing to her own throat and letting her hand rest on her clavicle. She actually likes the whole deal, his busy maroon dress shirt and matching vest, but she's careful to ration her compliments with Fred, ready to keep him on his toes. He watches Emily do this, touch her neck and run her fingers across her skin, almost as if she didn't say anything at all. She sees him take a deep breath, his chest rising and falling as he bites at the inside of his mouth. It's one of those moments in which the world moves around them, like they're losing time and somehow it doesn't matter.

"I want to touch you," he says suddenly. He means to mouth it, but it comes out as almost a whisper. Emily blushes instantly, but she's still smiling as she looks around at his family quickly. She puts a finger to her lips to shush him, but ends up covering her mouth with her hand, laughing quietly. Fred laughs too, noticing for just a second that Ron has heard him. He hopes Emily won't look, but she does.

Fred rolls his eyes, glancing ruefully at his younger brother. Emily won't mess around with him if Ron is looking. She's got some idea that it's inappropriate, that he's too young to know what his brothers are actually up to. As Fred studies his brother, noticing how Ron looks at Emily, at his girlfriend, he feels for just a moment that sneaking bit of jealousy, the small and terrible inkling that Emily might be worried about Ron's feelings. He wonders what would happen if he just told him.

You have no idea, Ron.

Fred turns again to Emily, who's now talking to his mother about her research again. Although he finds it interesting, and likes to hear Emily talk about things she likes, it makes him antsy to know that Bill's listening. His older brother always has something to say on the matter, like he's trying to relate to Emily in a way that only he can. Emily doesn't notice, of course, because she doesn't know Bill, but Fred is all too aware of his other brother's objective as well. It's always been this way, bringing a girl home. Fred looks uneasily around the table, glad for once that Charlie and Percy aren't home. Charlie, especially, would make a great game out of distracting Emily and winking at her. In this way, Fred muses, Ron's really not that bad at all, being that he can't sway her the way Charlie or Bill might.

Maybe I'll get a shot at that when Ron brings home a girl.

Fred watches his younger brother try to covertly pick his nose, rubbing it with his palm and looking around. He decides it will be a while before that opportunity presents itself, if it ever does. Still, there's something about the way Emily concerns herself with Ron, like his Mum does, almost. Like he needs to be looked out for. Fred wonders about this to himself until Emily turns to him again, her face lit up with a fresh smile from speaking with his mother. That's another thing she gets a kick out of, talking to Mum like they're equals. He smiles back at Emily, aware that he likes this too. Something about Emily and his Mum laughing in secret is nice, even if it's probably about him.

It's George's turn to do the dishes, so he starts clearing plates as Molly bustles about getting coffee and tea on the table. Emily is aware of Fred staring intently at her, but she decides not to humor him at the moment. It's a soft heat on her skin, knowing he's looking at her and silently willing her to meet him halfway. He turns to look at Ron again, who is chewing something laboriously and watching his mother set out coffee cups.

"Emily, don't you like Ron's new jumper?" Molly says off-handedly. Ron swallows, probably too much, almost instantly. He sits up straight and looks nervous, as if to present his hand-knit jumper to everyone at the table.

"You look sharp, Ron. Very handsome." Emily says, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. He swells with pride, grinning at her crookedly. Fred is now glaring at his small brother.

"Er, thanks, Em. Mum, you could make her one, too, you kno-" Molly interrupts Ron with a cartoonish shushing sound, rolling her eyes and pretending she's not up to anything already. Emily smiles. She has seen the half-finished work in Molly's sewing basket, a jumper with an E across it that looks a lot like the pattern used for Ginny's.

"Is it alright if I excuse myself? Talking about work makes me want to take a second look at something..." Emily asks delicately. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seem fine with her departing early, and she promises Molly she'll have coffee later, by the fire. When she pushes her chair back and stands, smoothing out her skirt, she notices Fred staring up at her, his hands on the armrests of his chair like he's ready to spring up.

"If you're still reading later on, come on down and sit with Ginny and I," Molly says primly. Emily makes a note to do this, as a feminine bonding experience and all. It's incredibly important to her that Fred's mother approves of her, even if she seems generally polite to everyone.

"I will," Emily says simply. "Alright, well, off to..." She stops speaking at the sound of Fred's chair squeaking backwards. He stands too quickly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Didn't you have that box of books to move? The er...heavy one?" he asks, trying his damnest not to smile at her.

"Oh, um...yes." She turns to go, leaving Fred to deal with making excuses on his own.

"Darling, she can manage if she needs to..." Molly begins, and Emily muffles a snicker with her hand as she starts up the stairs. She makes it to the top before audibly laughing, and then has to sit on the top step, her skirt falling around her knees as she giggles at how Fred looked. Emily is still laughing when he appears on the stairwell.

"What's so funny?" he asks in a half-whisper, looking almost worried. He glances behind him to see if anyone's followed him.

"You almost knocked the table over!" Emily says, stifling giggles behind both hands. They laugh together, trying to stay quiet at the top of the stairs. Emily is still smiling when Fred takes a knee on the step below her, placing a hand on either side of her. He pretends like he's going to bite her and she squeaks in protest before he presses his mouth to hers. Fred moves his lips against hers, taking her bottom lip in his teeth before pulling away. "You're awful," she says softly, smoothing his shirt collar for him.

"And you are...wonderful," he breathes, moving to kiss and nibble her right earlobe.

"I'm serious, I can't eat with you anymore."

"I feel like I could take a bite out of you," Fred returns. He pulls away to look her over, switching his weight to one hand so he can touch her blouse with the other. He pulls one side of her shirt away from her chest gently, and Emily watches him kiss her there, closing her eyes for just a second to smell his hair as he buries his face in her neck. "Mmm, right here. You're so sweet," he says, and she can hear the smile in his voice, and then his tongue along the top of her breasts. Her head tilts back just a bit, and she sighs slowly.

"Don't bite me," she says, arching her back.

"Don't tell me what to do," Fred grins, unbuttoning the top button on her blouse.

"Fred..." she warns, looking down at him. Her voice drops to a whisper again. "Anybody could come up the stairs."

"That's how stairs work, yes," he answers cheekily, reaching to grip her ankle and pull it behind him. He wraps her leg around his waist and looks up at her from underneath his bangs.

"Wait, don't..." she starts, but there's a lovely buzzing feeling on her inner thighs now, and she knows he's so close to her, just his black trousers and boxer briefs... "I don't want you to..."

"I think you do," Fred says slowly. The air is thick between them, and his breath is hot on her neck as he wraps both arms around her, clasping his hands at the small of her back. He kisses her very softly, parting her lips with his tongue. Emily worries for a moment that she's put him off for too long. She can feel the heat of him, Fred rocks her entire body just running his tongue against hers, filling her mouth with his heat. The empathetic part of her almost melts as she realizes he's waited a while for her. Fred, who would lay in bed and make her laugh, make love to her ten times a day if she'd let him, kissing her hungrily and silently at the top of the stairs.

She wants to hear him, so she breaks the kiss gently, pushing on his chest with one hand. He looks at her dreamily, moving forward as she dips her head down to kiss his neck.

"Oh," he says involuntarily, sounding less sure of himself now. Emily closes her eyes happily, knowing she'll get what she wants from him. She shifts forward, draping both arms around his neck delicately, kissing up Fred's neck in a trail of soft, slow kisses that make him shiver. He makes a noise like a soft moan, and she knows she's on his spot now, just underneath and behind his ear.

Fred tilts his head away just a bit, his eyes closed and his mouth open slightly. The wonder of Emily's supple mouth on him is enough to send waves of warmth down his whole body. In an attempt to calm himself down, he tries to let his mind wander, but it's all Emily in her lavender dress, looking up at him, lying underneath him in the garden at night, and he's suddenly hard as a rock for her. He takes her chin in his hand and pulls her mouth to his again, this time wet and heavy, and when Emily moans softly into his mouth, he wraps both her legs around him tightly and lifts her with him, his mouth not leaving hers even as he makes the top three steps and moves down the hallway, his hands running up her back. He pulls out her hair clip a little roughly and drops it on the ground behind them, his fingers diving into her hair, still cool and soft from the shower.

His room is closer, and Emily reaches behind her to get the door-knob for him. Fred kicks the door shut behind him, feeling another wave of electricity as Emily sucks at his bottom lip and grinds her hips against him once. He stumbles on his way across the room and they land on his bed, kissing and moaning a little louder now. The window above his bed is open, and the soft summer evening is all around them.

"You know, I really do have work," Emily says serenely, her lush eyelashes batting at him a few times. He shrugs at her, working gently at the buttons on her blouse, pulling the bottom of it from inside her skirt where she's tucked it in. Underneath is her peach lace bra, one he hopes she'll let him keep when he goes back to school. He kisses the space between her collarbones slowly, pausing and breathing her in before moving downward, his hands sliding underneath her warm body and up her back to unhook her bra. This is one of the things he wishes he could tell people about, how he's figured out how to do it one-handed, and without her help.

Emily slides the strap off one shoulder, and then the other, returning Fred's self-satisfied smirk as he leans back on his knees, shrugging off his vest and watching her arch her back to undress completely. She lets her blouse fall off the side of his bed and doesn't notice when Fred covertly nicks her bra and tucks it into his back pocket.

"I'm going to miss this very much," she says suddenly, folding her arms under her head and looking up at him.

"There aren't any lookers in your year?" Fred returns, one eyebrow raised. He's gotten very good at this, challenging her. It's taken Emily the summer just to discern when he's trying to evade admitting something to her, and she knows this is one of those times.

"Well, sure, but your bed is so cushy," she grins, pushing the mattress down with one hand. When she looks back up at him, his smile has dropped.

"You're not..." he starts. Their voices overlap.

"Am I?"

It makes him nervous, when it's not filling him with hunger and a drive to touch her, that way Emily can lie almost naked in front of him like it's nothing. She's underneath him, sure, lying on her back, but Fred is acutely aware of where the controlling force of the whole situation lies. He feels something build inside him, something stronger than what he feels when Ron goes in to hug Emily, or when Bill makes a remark about Fred wasting his education in front of her. It's almost anger. He starts to take his shirt off, and almost rips off a button in the process.

"Honey," Emily says, sliding a hand up his thigh. She says it like she's comforting him, like she feels sorry for him.

"Is that the plan? Go back to school and start over with someone else?" he asks, looking down at her as he takes his shirt completely off. He tries to look indifferent, but she finds his erection with two fingers and runs them down his length slowly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Mmm, Fred..." she says softly, reaching to touch his chest with her other hand.

"Huh? Is that what you're gonna do?" he asks seriously, taking the hand near his chest in his, holding her wrist. He brings her arm back down to the bed, pinning her wrist above her head and meeting her eyes. Supporting himself on his arm, he presses his hips against her. "You're going to go back to school and shag somebody and forget about all of it?"

Emily hears his voice at a lower register. She can feel him, impossibly hard, against her thigh, and wishes he would kiss her again. Surprised by Fred's taking initiative, she wiggles her hand underneath his grip and realizes he's not going to let her go.

"What do you want to do about it?" she asks, trying to sound courteous. Fred being aggressive only makes her want to match him. She's determined not to break before he does, not to confess anything.

"I want you to tell my brothers they can't have you." Fred is almost surprised to hear it out-loud, but he's said it. Emily looks luminous and pleased, almost. She reaches up with her free hand to caress the nape of his neck, pulling him down to her. She kisses him softly again, and he kisses back, meeting her quiet comforting movements. He buries his face in her hair and runs his tongue around the lovely shape of her ear, making her shiver underneath him.

"They can't," she says simply.

"They don't know that," he murmurs into her ear, pausing before taking her earlobe between his teeth gently.

"Well, what would you want me to say? I can't just..." she trails off, her eyelids fluttering as he kisses downward, across her neck and chest.

"I want you to say, listen..." Fred says, smiling to himself as he slides both hands up Emily's waist to cup each of her perfect breasts. He rubs her right nipple with his thumb and kisses her all over, wanting just to bite into her like a peach, she's so soft and sweet. "You're all nice and everything, but Fred and I spend most afternoons fucking," he thrusts his hips against her as he says this, "and I don't want anyone else to touch you, Emily. I just don't." He realizes he's dropped his fantasy halfway through, but teasing each other about it hasn't gotten him anywhere.

"It could get messy," Emily says. It sounds more like an offering than an argument, like she's just trying to be difficult.

"No it won't. It's incredibly simple. I just want you for myself, all of you. Forever. That's the easiest thing I've ever heard," he laughs, leaning over her to meet her mouth and kiss her again. Fred can feel her smile against his. "Besides, you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone as handsome as me who wants to take you out. I mean, look at you, you're..." he dissolves into laughter in mid-sentence. "Alright, I was going to say you look awful, but you just..." He looks over her again, running his hands over her chest and feeling how her breasts are a perfect handful each for him.

"You don't think I could find someone as good-looking as you, then?" Emily repeats, laughing along with him. "I mean, Bill's quite the charmer, I wouldn't have to go very far..." As soon as she says it, she sees in Fred's eyes what she's done. He smiles ruefully at her.

"Oh, that's it for you, miss," he says, laughing.

"Ah, no, I take it back!" Emily says, clapping her hands over her mouth when she realizes her voice is too loud. Fred leans back and slides both hands up her thighs and under her skirt to pull if off. She kicks it off her legs and she grabs both her ankles and pushes them down to the bed.

"Oh no, you said it, and now I know how you feel. You're just shagging me until you can go away with him and read books and listen to boring lectures for the rest of your lives, is that it?" He pins her legs down with his knees, pulling them apart gently and admiring her panties, peach and lace to match her bra, which is still in his back pocket. "Speaking of sweet..."

"Were we?" Emily asks, but she gasps when Fred's mouth is against her, kissing her through her panties. He licks against the thin fabric, pressing his tongue against her and driving shivers of gold pleasure up and down her body. "Oh, Fred..."

"God, you're like...creme brulee all over...the whole entire lot of you," Fred breathes, pausing in between phrases to lick and kiss her.

"I love when you..." Emily can't even finish, and covers her face with her hands, sighing in ecstasy as Fred pushes aside the crotch of her panties. She shivers, waiting to feel him against and inside her, just bare with nothing between them.

"Like sugar," he says before dipping a finger into her slowly.

"Oh, God," Emily moans, tilting her hips up for more. He laughs quietly, pushing her back down with one hand.

"Shh...I want to take my time, you just wait for me until I'm done," Fred orders gently. He slides a second finger inside her, tight and wet, and starts to rub against the inside of her, his fingers curved like he's asking her to c'mere. He kisses her softly and then finds her clit with his tongue. He makes a seal over her hot little button with his mouth, sucking on her and pulsating his fingers inside her, doing all the things he's learned to make Emily squirm and breathe his name in that way he hears her say it in his dreams.

All of it together is maddening, and Emily reaches underneath her head for his pillow, pressing it into her face to keep from calling things out.

"That's right, Em...stay quiet, that's my girl. Old house, thin walls, you know..." Fred smirks before returning his tongue to her sweet and softness between her thighs. He pauses, holding his fingers still inside her, and feels her relax. When he moves them again, sliding in a third finger, Emily gasps into the pillow. He can make out his name over and over again.

When Emily comes, he presses his face into her thigh and works at her with his fingers, extending her orgasm and feeling her shudder all through her body.

I didn't know I could get so hard.

After a deep breath, Emily tosses his pillow to the side and sits up a little, reaching down to unbuckle his belt for him. They grin at each other, and Fred decides he has never felt this content before in his life. When Emily dips her hands into his pants and finds his cock, he feels like rolling his eyes back into his head and collapsing, it's so incredible.

"Jesus Christ, Fred, you're so big," she says breathlessly, like she did the first time she ever touched him. He murmurs his response, thinking only of her fingers, warm on the length of him as she develops a rhythm. With the window open, it's become a little cold as the sun has gone down, and he rips back the blanket for both of them to crawl underneath. Emily kisses him, matching his hunger now, and he loves her tongue and her mouth and hair, wishing he could stay there all through the night and morning and never leave her smooth body and only work to make her laugh again and again.

Fred looks down at Emily once he's broken their kiss. She gazes up at him, feeling she won't ever get him close enough, loving his brown expressive eyes and boyish grin.

"You want me to?" he asks breathily, and she nods.

"Please, Fred, I'm so ready for you..."

He slides his entire length inside her with one slow movement, and she sighs contentedly to feel him fit perfectly, filling her up. Pulling out and thrusting back in, this time faster, Fred buries his face in her neck and moans.

"Ah god, you're so fucking perfect..." he groans into her shoulder, and she gasps to feel his rhythm increase in speed. He slides in and out of her, his long college-boy cock slick and wonderful, almost impaling her when he's buried to the hilt inside her. Fred reaches a hand up to grip the headboard behind her, and they both go to kiss the other simultaneously.

Ron finds Emily's hairclip, the one shaped like a butterfly, on the ground near his bedroom door. He picks it up, his eyes wide, and pockets it quickly, assuming as only a young teenager would that she's left it for him as some kind of sign. When he hears Emily's voice from Fred's room, sounding like she's putting effort into something, he straightens up, remembering that Fred had mentioned helping her move things.

I can do that too.

When he opens the door slightly, he sees his older, filled-out brother in bed, his lean-muscled arm across Emily's body, holding the headboard with white knuckles like he's trying to break it. When Fred comes, it's with his mouth open, gasping Emily's name into her chest as she grips his copper hair with one hand, her head tilted back so Ron can see the curve of her white neck as she meets his brother at the peak.

He turns and walks to his room without closing the door behind him, holding Emily's clip in two hands like it's made of glass and ready to shatter at any moment.

"I love you." Fred says suddenly, punctuating the sentence by kissing Emily's mouth.

"I love you, Fred," she says, the corners of her mouth turned up in a kind of relieved smile that Fred has never seen before.

"I do, I'm sorry I didn't say it before. I love you, I love you, I want every bit of you. This is mine," he bites gently at pinkie finger, and then her shoulder, and then the curve of her breast "and this is mine, and this is mine..."


	2. In Which Fred and Emily Have Sex Outside

"Is my hair alright?" Ginny asks, turning in a circle so Emily can see it.

"It's perfect. I put all that hairspray in it, so trust me, it won't be moving."

"Hairspray," Ginny repeats awkwardly, touching the french braid with her fingers. "I don't understand how it could work better than a holding spell."

"Certainly smells better," Emily answers, crossing her legs. Her own hair bounces around her shoulders in soft waves. She wasn't able to find her favorite clip, so she had curled it out and hoped for the best. Hours before the reception, Emily had still been confused as to what she was expected to wear to the wedding. She had rubbed the morning frost from the bathroom window, watching with a sleepy smile as the Weasleys and their guests lifted the white tent with some kind of spell that took all of them to use. Fred had seen her in the window and had made a face at her, dancing in a sort of awkward snake-like way, almost tripping over his own long legs.

"Where's your brother, by the way?" Emily asks, interrupting Ginny from attempting to study her own reflection in her spoon. The silverware at the party is incredibly fine, glistening in a way that Emily imagines is due to more magic. Molly Weasley isn't a big fan of Dawn soap.

"Which one?" Ginny asks. Emily stiffens, hoping this isn't a crack about the incident with Charlie, but the small red-headed girl looks innocent enough. "Oh, you mean Fred," she adds, smiling and rolling her eyes.

"Of course," Emily insists.

"I dunno, probably giving Bill hell for not picking him as best man." Ginny pauses, giving Emily a solemn look before taking a sip of sparkling juice. "I did see him talking to Fleur's cousins before..."

"Fleur has relatives here?" Emily says, feeling something stuck in her throat. She looks around and spots the bride, looking almost ethereal.

"Veela cousins," Ginny adds. She looks at Emily with a disturbing amount of empathy. It almost looks like pity, and Emily's sense of pride quivers. She can't bring herself to say anything, understanding that Veela girls are magically inclined, somehow prettier and more charming than any human girl could hope to be. She's barely aware of Ginny studying her. "D'you think he's still mad about...you know..."

"I-I don't know. Maybe. You don't think he would-" she stops in mid-sentence. Emily and Fred's younger sister stare at each other, each wondering about the limits of Fred's sense of spite.

"One time I borrowed his shirt to wear as a dress..." Ginny begins, folding her hands in her lap.

"Please tell me he was gracious about it."

"...He climbed outside my bedroom window after dinner and, well I guess he just hung there on the windowsill until I fell asleep."

"I see where this is going..."

"Yeah. I woke up and he was standing over me with a mask on, something with fiery eyes. They sell them. Him and George."

"Jesus Christ. So, the Veela girls?"

"If I were you, I'd go find him." Ginny looks so earnest and concerned that it makes Emily feel sick. She stands to go, smoothing her satin dress down.

"I think I'll, um, go get a drink."

"You have one!" Ginny calls after her, holding out a full glass of champagne. Emily can't even bring herself to turn around. She struts across the side of the dance-floor, glancing again at Fleur, spinning around like a ballerina in her white and black wedding gown. The way the lights hit her hair is just plain unfair, and Emily regrets not having spoken to her at length.

I don't even know if she's funny or intelligent to back up the way she looks.

Judging by the way Bill watches his new bride glide across the dance floor, Emily assumes it doesn't really matter. It might be rash of her to assume Fleur's personality is below par, but flipping her hair backward, Emily decides she has earned the right to be immature. At least for now.

"Lovely party, isn't it?" Hermione calls to her from the punch bowl.

"It's perfect," Emily returns, smiling weakly. "You look great, Hermione." She does, really. Her hair is slicked back into a bun at the nape of her neck, and she's wearing a cherry red dress that slims her considerably, not that she was in need of this effect to begin with. Emily appreciates her presence as both a fellow non-Weasley, a person with knowledge of muggles, and as a distraction for Ron.

"Thank you," the younger girl replies primly. She looks Emily up and down once and nods. "I like your dress."

"Bloomingdale's," Emily shrugs, and the girls smile at each other. Muggle stores.

"It has a charm on it, though. Doesn't it? The colors change in different lights, or at least, I believe they do. It looked lavender in the kitchen earlier, but now you're sort of...turquoise." Hermione says slowly, reaching out a hand to take Emily's hem in her fingers. She looks at the fabric closely for a second, and then lets the dress drop, flushing. "Oh, sorry. I was just curious."

"Ginny and I figured it out, actually. I was surprised when it worked. Only took us a few hours."

"That's a pretty simple one, I could have done it for you," Hermione says, giving her head a little self-important shake.

"Next time," Emily assures her warmly. She doesn't mind Hermione's confidence in the least, recognizing her as a genuine nerd underneath it all. Just because she memorizes incantations doesn't make her any different from the girls at home who study algorithms and philosophy. "Say, have you seen Fred at all?"

Hermione shakes her head. "I haven't even seen Ron. They might be together. I was just about to sit with Ginny, so I'll see if they're at a table somewhere."

"Sure," Emily says softly, knowing very well Fred isn't under the tent. She's already gone around once and didn't see him. "I'll see you in a bit, then," she adds, accepting Hermoine touching her shoulder as she passes. She feels at once uncomfortable, like Ginny and Hermione might know Fred better than she does, and that they might know something she doesn't.

"It wasn't a big deal," Emily says out-loud to herself, making her way toward the tent's opening, her dress fluttering around her knees with every determined step.

As Fred liked to believe, Charlie had "cornered" her in the living room one evening when everyone was out helping at Fred and George's joke shop. It had really just seemed like politeness at the time, when Charlie arrived unannounced to what he thought was an empty house. He had placed his suitcase down on the hearth roughly, surprised to see her seated on the sofa, surrounded by her own notes.

"Emily, I didn't know you were here!"

"Oh, God, Charlie, I look awful! It's great to see you, though," she had laughed, standing and letting the papers on her lap flutter to the floor. He had laughed too, welcoming her hug with open arms. When she pulled away, he smiled down at her.

"How's it coming, your paper?"

"Much better than the last time I saw you..." Emily had sighed, turning to pick up her papers and shuffle them into a pile against her stomach. "How's, um, dragons?"

"Um-dragons are great. Fascinating as always." He had sighed, rolling up his sleeves and sitting in the armchair in the corner. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to avoid all coherent thought for a couple days. I'm exhausted."

"I barely know how to do that anymore. Relax, I mean," she had replied, seating herself across from him, her legs folded underneath her.

"You're going to fry your brain looking at that stuff for days on end," Bill laughed. She thought, in that moment, he looked the most like Fred, running his hand through his (albeit longer) hair and leaning back into the chair, teasing her.

"I pace myself."

"Distractions?"

"Sure."

"Like what?"

"Cute boys with little interest in literature," she returned, rolling her eyes.

"How is my brother, by the way?" Charlie had grinned.

"Wily."

"As per usual."

"Mhm. He talks about moving out, living above him and George's store."

"I guess that means you're invited?"

"I guess so." A silence had followed, but it had been a comfortable one as Emily picked up the last of her notes and started to sort them on the coffee table, split into four piles. "I feel the worst when I come between them. The twins, I mean."

"It was bound to happen eventually. I hope you realize, if things work out and you don't tire of Fred after a while, you'll probably have George crashing on your couch every other weekend."

"Looking forward to it," Emily had assured him honestly.

As long as we're alone once in a while.

"How long can you stay?" she had implored, crossing her legs underneath her and leaning into the back of the sofa. She rubbed at an ink spot on her thigh, wishing she had worn jeans downstairs that morning. Then again, she hadn't expected anyone to be around until at least dinnertime.

"Just until after the wedding. It was hard enough asking for even a couple days off." Charlie had shrugged good-naturedly. "Sometimes I think a few days in this house is enough to tide me over for a while. I feel like it gets more and more crowded...in a good way."

"I'll be out of everyone's hair in a few weeks," Emily had offered, knowing full well she was one of the quietest and least objectionable presences in the house. "Are you excited? Being named best man and everything?"

"Of course," Charlie had smiled, rubbing his eye sleepily and gazing at her. "I've worked on my speech since I found out. I think it's alright, although Fred might have done a better job."

"I don't know. You'll be sentimental about it, I think Fleur will appreciate it more."

"Hope so. I took dancing classes too," Charlie had added quickly, getting up to make tea.

"Charlie, you did not! That's adorable!" she had exclaimed, leaning forward and watching him cross to the kitchen. He brushed it off, smiling to himself.

"Yeah, Bill did them too. It was a mess for a while, but I think I've figured it out." He had picked up two mugs, thought for a second, and then put them down on the counter again. "Here, I'll show you, c'mere," he had said, waving her over.

"I should..." Emily had said at first, looking down at her work.

"No, see, this is what I'm talking about, Emily. You need to stop saying no when opportunities present themselves. It's great, what you're doing, but you need a life in addition to the research." She had sighed, standing in her pajama shorts and tank top, wishing again that she had dressed for the day, or at least taken her hair down from its messy bun. She even had a pencil stuck in it, Emily had realized with a grimace. Of course, Charlie had been in dress slacks and a trim jumper, looking sharp like a graduate student as usual. He had held out a hand for her to take, smirking at her hesitation.

"Alright, can you waltz?" he had asked, pulling her gently to him.

"Are you joking?"

"I'll take that as a no. Don't feel bad, I couldn't either, until a few weeks ago. It's just a count of four, and...well, here, I'll just lead you." He had placed a warm hand on her waist and taken her hand with the other, guiding her backward and past the dining room table. Emily had felt like the pressure was gone instantly, and she had allowed Charlie to push and pull her softly in a circle while she stared at their feet. "Wonderful," he told her, holding his arm out to twirl her and pull her back.

"Can I pay you to teach Fred?"

"There aren't enough Galleons in the world, Em." Charlie had laughed with her, still guiding their bodies around the small living room. He had twirled her out with a flourish, and when the front door opened, Charlie had pulled her into him, both of them laughing.

"EMILY, WAKE UP, I WANT TO SHOW-" Fred had stopped in the doorway, wearing a pair of glasses whose lenses spun and sparked. He stood in silence for a good three seconds, and then reached up to slowly slide his glasses off.

"Wow, what are they?" Emily had rushed to ask, clearing her throat. Charlie had felt the tension too, turning and letting her hands go. He had walked straight into the kitchen to concern himself with tea, not even saying hello to his brother.

"Uh, just...dumb. You know, joke things. Hilarious." Fred had stared her down before walking past her toward the stairs, tossing his glasses on the dining room table.

"Fred, did you pick up the suits that I..." Charlie had started, and Fred had stopped in his tracks just when he had passed Emily. He was close enough to touch, but she couldn't do it, not with that wounded look in his eyes.

"I have a suit," he had answered curtly. "The last time you wore one, it was too small, you remember that?"

"Percy's," Charlie had agreed, and another awkward silence passed through the room. They didn't often mention Percy, whose RSVP to the wedding had arrived just a few days before, outlining his refusal.

"Did you get a tie? Bill's matched his to Fleur's dress, and I thought..." Fred had talked right over her, like he hadn't even heard.

"I've got a couple orders to take care of, so just tell George I'm upstairs when he comes in." Fred had given her an awful, stiff bow, taking her hand to kiss it before turning to go. It was a horrible, cold reminder of their first meeting, how he had kissed her hand and called her a "lady" before running off after his brother.

"Fred..." she had pleaded, but he turned to go, smiling coldly at Charlie.

Fred finds Fleur's cousin to be increasingly boorish, as she doesn't seem to get a lot of the things he says. His jokes go right over her head, or else she ignores them entirely.

"So are all Veelas like Fleur, then?"

"Whatever do you mean?" she asks, splitting a blade of grass between her white fingers. They sit on the opposite side of the house on the dewy grass at the edge of his mother's garden. At first, he was impressed with how the moon-light reflected off the girl's skin, but the effect is waning as he runs out of things to talk about.

"I just mean, do you all like red-haired gangly kind of fellows?" he offers, laughing weakly at her. She seems almost inhumanely unruffled, sitting up straighter and plucking another blade of grass from between them.

"I don't think Bill is gangly, and Fleur loves him."

"No, I know that, I was just..." He sighs, thinking for a second that Emily would have returned his advances with a remark about his long awkward limbs. He pushes that thought away bitterly. "I was joking."

"You are very funny, Fred," the girl says stiffly, not smiling. He can't think of anything to say to that, and leans back on his hands instead, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He loosens his tie and bites the inside of his cheek, thinking. "Are you going to kiss me?"

He gapes at her, his eyes wide and his body frozen. "Excuse me?"

"Isn't that why you brought me out here?" she cooes, turning her body to face him. After twenty minutes of looking bored, she is suddenly alive with some kind of silver light.

"Well, I..."

wanted to be seen with you

"...wanted to talk to you."

"About?" she asks, her voice softer. He is somewhat aware of her hand sliding onto his, like a smooth, cold, white snake in the grass.

"I..." Before he can fully protest, she has moved like a cat toward him, lightly brushing her lips against his. She smells like lilies, but underneath there's another smell. Clean and too sharp, like the stuff his mother uses to scrub the kitchen floors. She pulls away suddenly, her silver eyes darting behind him. "Oh dear..." she says without emotion.

Fred's chest feels tight, and his mouth tingles in a way that is both pleasant and unsettling. He turns his head very slowly, aware suddenly of his loosened tie.

"Emily..." He says her name breathily. She wavers a little, standing a few feet from them in bare feet, her silver heels in one hand. The breeze blows past him and twirls her dress around her. "Em..." he says again, moving to get up. Her bottom lip trembles as she turns away, half-running in the other direction.

"Get away from me," she says coldly, not bothering to look back.

"Emily, wait..." he says, wincing when his voice cracks. "I wasn't..." He takes a few extra-long strides to catch up with her, taking her arm gently once they are out of sight of both the tent and Fleur's cousin.

"I said, get away from me!" she cries, prying his fingers off her and continuing forward. "I can't look at you right now!"

"Hey!" he yells, stepping forward again to grab her, this time firmly. He whips her around to face him, frozen for a second when her eyes meet his. She pulls at his hand on her arm, and when he tries to take her by both of her shoulders, she slaps at his hands and pushes him a step back, her hands flat on his chest. "Em, stop. Stop!" he says firmly, taking both of her hands in his and kissing them, his eyes locked on hers.

"Leave me alone..." she sighs, giving in tearfully and looking down. He pulls her by her wrists, gently now, and presses his forehead against hers. They stay like that for a still moment, watching their breath furl from their mouths and meet between their bodies.

"How could you?" she whispers into the dark.

"I didn't mean to. I only wanted you to see us talking, but she thought..."

"Why? Because of Charlie?" she asks softly, pulling away to look at him. He drops her hands and jams his in his trouser pockets, kicking at the grass between them.

"It makes more sense, anyway. I've thought about it, and Charlie's a better man for you."

"How dare you..." she whispers darkly, taking a step away from him.

"I'm trying to be reasonable!" he says, too loudly, reaching to cup her face with one hand, but she smacks it away.

"It's not your decision, who I want to be with!"

"Well, how do you think it feels, huh? Sometimes I can barely keep up with the two of you, I don't even know what you're talking about half the time!"

"Fred, you have to trust me when I tell you-"

"I do trust you!"

"No, you don't! You act like you can't leave us alone together! Is that going to last forever, you always standing and watching me around your brothers like any minute-"

"Well you looked pretty damn happy when I came home!" he yells, his temper flaring.

"I WAS HAPPY!" Emily screams back. A pause, and then she says a little calmer, "You have to allow me to be happy with your family. It's not fair. You act like you want to be the only good thing in my life. Are you jealous about everything? What about my brother? Does it bother you when I'm on the phone with him? Huh? Answer me!" She takes a shot at him, slapping at his chest again, and he nods, smiling darkly and running his tongue over his teeth. He tries his best to keep his frustration contained. "How about my studying? Are you jealous that I read other men's work? I take notes, I love it, I really do." She steps closer to him, as if to kiss him, and glares at him, her lovely little forehead wrinkled with anger. He wants to shake her. "I do. I love what they have to say."

"What do you want, Emily?" he asks coldly. "You want me to get worked up about it?"

"No! Jesus Christ, I want you to allow me room to breathe! No, wait. You know what? I want to trust that you're not going to kiss-"

"-snog-" he corrects, smiling cheekily.

"-THE FIRST GIRL YOU SEE WHEN YOU FEEL JEALOUS. It's childish, Fred! You're like a little boy! You were trying to hurt me."

"If you're so unhappy, why don't you just go?" he says glumly, looking at the ground. Emily's hands fly to her hair, which she grips in frustration before bringing her small fists to her sides.

"Because I want you!" she exclaims. "You're such a fucking idiot, it's like you don't realize that's all I want! I'm here because I want you, Fred!" She slaps at him again, and he catches her by the wrist without looking. "No, no, I need time to think about this," she protests, pulling at him, but he holds her tightly, looking slowly to meet her eyes.

Emily tries to fight him, to pull away to sit with Hermione and Ginny and ignore him for the rest of the evening, but he's surprisingly strong. He snatches her other hand when she pushes him, and holds her wrists on either side of them, pulling her against him with one swift movement.

"Call me an idiot again," he dares her, his voice low. She opens her mouth to speak and he kisses her, roughly at first. She turns her head and he doesn't relent, growling into her ear as he pulls her toward him again, as if they could get any closer.

"Fred, don't-" she shakes her hands, trying to free herself, and he lets her left wrist go, wrapping his free arm around her waist and holding her tightly.

"You think you're smarter than me, hm?" He murmurs, kissing her cheek softly, still holding her to him with an iron grip.

"I love you," she says simply, pulling back to look at him.

"Yeah, that's what you tell me..." He smirks at her, and she feels something flutter inside her. This time when he presses his mouth on hers, she returns the kiss, meeting him halfway and opening her mouth to him, moaning slightly when he lets go of her other hand and wraps both arms around her, dipping her backwards and kissing her slowly. When he pulls his mouth away to look at her, they're both breathing harder, clutched hard against each other.

"I have to fight to keep you," he says in a low whisper, his voice husky with lust.

"You didn't fight to get me," she whispers back, kissing him once on the lips.

"Oh yes, I did. You weren't paying attention," he smiles, sliding a hand behind her head and pulling her mouth to his again. She kisses back softly, melting into his arms and succumbing to his hold on her.

"I still think you've been horrible," she murmurs in his ear.

"Awful," he says. "I'll be better."

"I don't believe you," Emily sighs, smiling into his neck and he slides his hands over her and cups her hips.

"I'll be good, I swear," he says, grinning at his own exaggerated voice as he tries to sound like an obedient kid.

"You've never been good in your life, Fred Weasley." She smirks at him, and he shrugs, laughing a little.

"You're probably right." He nips at her ear. "I missed you."

"Mmm?"

"I swear this is the prettiest you've ever looked, the whole time I've been trying to stay cross with you. This whole week it's been, ooh why don't I wear the see-through blouse to tea today? Why don't I wear my short little skirt with socks that come up to my thighs? How about I just walk to the shower in a towel from now on?" He rolls his eyes and tilts his head to the side, poking his finger into his cheek to do an impression of Emily and her one dimple.

"That's not what I sound like," Emily laughs, pretending to look angry with him.

"You're right. That's silly of me. It's more like oh Fred, oh please, give it to me, just like that-" She claps a hand over his mouth to stop him from yelling out awful things, and he licks her palm and laughs when she yanks her hand away, wiping it on her dress.

"I never say that-"

"Ha! You do, too, I'll prove it to you!" He laughs as he moves in to kiss her again, lifting her up and feeling her legs wrap around him tightly. He holds her from underneath, smiling against her mouth and pushing her back against the brick wall of the house.

Emily feels the wall push her dress up, wrinkling it against her back. The brick scrapes against her shoulders, and she cries out in pain as Fred finds her chest with his teeth. She has no idea how he became such a biter, but she's come to adore his nibbles and snips. She covers her own mouth with the back of her hand, suppressing the desire to sigh his name. She rolls her hips against his as he slides the top of her strapless dress down, nestling himself between her breasts.

"You smell like coconut..." he murmurs dreamily, kissing her once, very slowly. "Please talk, I love it when you tell me things."

"Anything?"

"Yep." He swirls his tongue around her nipple and laughs at her shivering response.

"I...really appreciate a Picture of Dorian Grey."

"More," he orders, sliding both hands underneath her satin dress and finding her underwear, which he twists around his fingers.

"Oh..." She moans, tilting her head back to look at the stars.

"Joyce isn't really all that bad if you...oh god, do that ag-again...just concentrate on the language first..."

"I see." Fred draws her panties down to her knees, fingering the little bow on the waistband and Emily reaches down to fiddle with his belt-buckle. He presses his body against her, holding her up on the wall without his hands as he reaches down to push her hands away. "Okay, my turn. Why can't a bicycle stand on it's own?" He tears his belt off, whipping it behind him so it lands in the grass. Emily laughs, fondling the buttons on his trousers before getting them open.

"I don't know, baby," she giggles, pushing her hair back from her face. He kisses her softly, positioning himself while he slides her panties down to one ankle.

"It's two-tired," he grins, sliding inside her before she can say anything.

She laughs when she comes, smiling into his strong shoulder and running her fingers lightly over his arms. The party lights from the tent twinkle from the other side of the house, and Fred kisses every inch of her in the moonlight, thanking her for everything silently every time his lips meet her skin.


	3. In Which Fred Hits Emily in the Eye

It began with a cricket ball.

The summer they met, the temperature had reached a record high. Every night was swollen with humidity, and being outside in the sunlight was like stepping into a brick oven. Fred had done everything to avoid physical exertion, more than usual, but at the end of August he had begun training Ron in Quidditch, insisting he and George could help him improve.

It was hard work getting both brothers to agree to practice sessions, but the task became more daunting when their mother had screamed for them to "take it outside." When they broke an upstairs window, their Dad had taken their brooms away for a week, insisting they would get along just fine with his stupid Muggle-sport paraphernalia.

Despite all the setbacks, Fred was alive with the possibility - no, the promise - of impending success. Gryffindor Quidditch players were supposed to be superstars. Girl-magnets, even. He had his eye on a few seventh years, and was convinced improving at his position as a Beater would be his ticket to finally getting to second base.

Bloody sixteen years old and I haven't even seen a girl's knickers.

And with my charm! Makes me sick.

"This is our year, buddy, I feel it!" Fred called, referring to the cute girls in his Potions class, but knowing Ron would assume something else. He grinned, looking a little dazed in the heat. He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, making it stand on end in the front.

"I still don't understand how this is going to help!" Ron had yelled, swinging the bat in a circle. He rolled his eyes, kicked at the dirt, and nodded at his brother. "Alright, go on, then. You waiting for an invitation?"

Fred tossed the ball a foot upward and caught it again, rolling it around in one hand. "Well, frankly, George, you're behind in your aim, and it's embarrassing. Try-outs start as soon as classes do, and if you walk in there asking to be a player...doing...that..." He trailed off, the hand holding the ball falling slowly to his side. Ron was emphatically trying to toss the bat upward and catch it, and had dropped it on his own head somehow.

Fred stared at his brother, his face blank with disbelief. "Are you seriously that stupid?"

"Can I show him?" George had asked from the porch, trying to get a Dungbomb to last longer with a preserving spell. He held a Chocolate Frog package between his teeth, frowning with concentration.

"Shut up." Ron was either addressing Fred, or George, or both of them. He rubbed the top of his head and picked the bat up again. "Just...let's get this over with." He gave his brother a come-on-already motion, settling into a weird hunched over stance and swinging the bat over his shoulder.

"Ron, have you been watching American baseball?" Fred asked, incredulously. He tried, at first, to suppress a smile, but when Ron wiggled his hips like he was up at bat, Fred doubled over laughing. "Oh for chrissake, Ron, they're not even going to let me back on the team if you can't do this right! I'll be rejected by association!"

"Just throw it!"

"Okay, here goes nothing..." Fred laughed, winding up and tossing his little brother the ball at top-speed. He leaned full into the throw, his long arm swinging around to his side as his lean body turned in the effort. The ball sailed in a slight curve toward Ron, who looked comically focused on its trajectory, his eyes narrowed.

"Sorry, hi, is this...the Burrow?" a light voice asked from behind Ron, who turned without thinking.

"Ron, no!" Fred called out, but it was too late. The ball sailed right past his brother, continued a few feet farther than Fred had meant it to, and smacked the girl at their gate straight in the face. Fred almost exploded with glee at the sight of it, the girl toppling back over the fence, but he slapped both his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide. His brother, however, was not as discreet. George sat agape, the Chocolate Frog box sliding slowly of his mouth and hitting the ground. After a moment, George burst out laughing louder than Fred had ever heard him, hugging himself and falling off the porch into the dust. Ron looked horrified, holding the bat away from his body like a murder weapon.

The girl sat up on the other side of the fence slowly, one hand over her eye. The boys watched silently as she started to stand and look around her for something.

"Er..." Fred began, but the front door to the house swung open with a bang. Charlie ran down the steps looking concerned.

"What did you idiots do?" he snapped, shoving past Fred on his way to the fence. When no one answered, Charlie stopped and turned, glaring at all three boys. Fred stared wide-eyed at the girl, who was now bending over completely to pick up their ball out of the dirt. Her dress rose a little in the back when she leaned over, revealing her white upper thighs. Fred slowly raised an arm, pointing at Ron. "When are you going to grow up, you know?" Charlie spat, disgusted. "You're not kids anymore." With that, he turned and walked to the fence in three long strides, swinging himself over it with relative ease.

"I think this is yours..." the girl smiled weakly, holding out their ball to Charlie. Her silver fingernails glinted in the sun. Charlie pushed her hand aside with a familiarity that embarrassed Fred. He wanted to look away. Charlie framed the girl's face with his hands, tilting her head back.

"Move your hand, let me see it."

"Ch...it's fine, I'm fine."

"Jesus. That's gonna be a shiner, we'll get some anti-bruise cream on it. Fred, you really are a tosser, you know that?"

"IT WAS RON!" Fred yelled, flipping his long hair out of his face, his hands on his hips.

"You threw it..." Ron protested, tossing the bat on the ground beside him. He leaned from one foot to the other, looking like he wanted to take off running into the house. George snickered as he approached his twin, sidling up next to him to get a closer look. The girl was tall, even next to Charlie, and she wore a blue and white dress that cinched at her waist with a ribbon. Her gold hair was tied up in a mass of wavy tendrils, and a few hung prettily around her face. Her lips were lacquered with a bright red that surprised him. When the girl greeted his brother "hello," her voice had an earthy kind of sound to it. Flat, almost sarcastic, and an American accent.

"Research partner, huh?" George hissed at Fred, his hand on one side of his mouth. Charlie took the girl's shoulder bag and opened the gate for her, glaring at his brothers again over her shoulder. "Isn't she a little...delicate to be dealing with dragons? Or wait...wait, there's a cock joke somewhere in there..." George rubbed his nose, grinning wickedly. "Ask her who her favorite Beater is, maybe it's you." Fred made an odd shushing sound, waving his hand vaguely in his brother's direction and walking toward Charlie and the girl.

"Wow, Charlie, you know how to pick 'em." Fred heard himself say. He stopped short, wondering where his internal filter had gone. If Charlie had been frustrated before, he was spitting fire now. The girl looked up at Fred, then, visibly hurt. "W-wait, I meant...I didn't mean your eye, I meant you're..."

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Fred Weasley, forever alone!" George cackled.

"No, I meant, you don't look like the usual...the dweebs Charlie usually brings home to uh, help with research. Glasses and all that." He blinked at her, taking her in fully now that she was facing him. She had lovely shoulders, and as he noticed this, he wondered why it had occurred to him. All that time he had spent staring at Angelina's hips in class, at least was normal. But there it was. This girl, Emily, had a graceful neck and long legs, and met his gaze with too much confidence. He cleared his throat.

"Emily's not here to help me, really. She's just visiting London to work on her own stuff, and I offered to let her stay with us."

"Stay with you?" George called, having a grand time. Emily looked at Fred, and then at Charlie, confused.

"Guest room," Charlie assured her. He turned to Fred and clarified in a lower voice. "Percy's room."

"Oh. I hope you don't mind the lingering smell of betrayal," Fred said dryly, rolling his eyes. "Does Mum know?"

"Of course Mum knows, why did you think she's been cleaning the house for days?"

"I dunno, menopause?" Fred shrugged. To his surprise, Emily laughed at this.

"So you're George...?" she asked, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and looking at him sort of curiously.

"Fred."

"I know, I'm teasing you. Charlie gave me the discerning details. Fred's a little shorter than George," she recited, "and he has a freckle right...there," she reached out and brushed just underneath his right eye with the tip of her finger. "Right?" she smiled warmly, looking back at Charlie.

"Yeah, this tosser's Fred, the asshole behind him is George, and that's Ron-the-baby."

"Ginny's the baby!" Ron cried, indignant.

"And then Percy, whose room you have, and Bill's away for a few weeks. Ginny, the only girl-"

"Poor thing..." Emily smiled, rocking back onto her heels playfully. Fred was suddenly aware of his shirt sticking to his back, probably in a deep V of sweat from being outside for a few hours.

"-and of course, Mum and Dad. So that's everyone. Ron's friends will most likely drop by now that it's August. They're all starting to get ready to go back now."

"Hogwarts?" Emily asked politely, turning to Fred again. He nodded, wishing he had something funny to say. He wasn't sure if magic jokes would go over her head, but she did seem familiar with the Wizarding World. Reading the confusion on his face, she added, "I graduated last year from Salem Witches Institute."

"That makes you Percy's age," Ron stated, sort of matter-of-factly. He had apparently mustered up the courage to join the conversation, although he stayed a step or two out of the odd triangle that had formed between Fred, Charlie and Emily. "How do you know..."

"I did a period abroad, met your brother in a Magical Creatures course." Emily shuddered. "You really helped me through that one, huh?" She smiled at Charlie beside her, who beamed back rather handsomely. "I'm not really a fan of dragons, they're too big for me..." George almost choked at this.

"I think you could do it." Fred blurted out. "Everything I've ever heard about Salem, it's that you're all kind of..."

"Valorous?" Emily offered, amused.

"I was going to say brave," Fred replied, tilting his head to one side thoughtfully. Charlie snorted at him, and Emily looked away. Fred licked his lips uncomfortably, touching a hand to his dirty hair. "That's the same thing, isn't it?" he asked glumly.

"We should get you inside..." Charlie offered, shifting Emily's bag on his arm. He clapped his brother's shoulder as he passed him, leaving Fred in front of Emily. Fred's mouth felt suddenly dry. Ron shuffled toward the house, and George approached them, positioning himself between them. He grinned at Fred, placing a hand on his twin's shoulder and a hand on Emily's.

"I don't know about you guys, but I think things are about to get interesting around here," George grinned, glancing from Fred to Emily and back to Fred.

"It's Finbar Quigley, by the way. My favorite Beater." Emily said suddenly. Both boys turned to look at her, their eyebrows raised. She shrugged, looking only at Fred. "I like the Irish boys." With that, she walked past them toward Charlie, who was holding the front door open for her, looking as proud as if he had arranged for the goddamn Queen of England to visit them for the summer. Fred stared at the ground where Emily had been.

"Oh yes..." George said softly, cracking his knuckles. "Interesting indeed."


End file.
